Arrows Through Archer

by Nash Summers

There was no light at the end of the tunnel because there was no fucking tunnel. There was a pit and in that pit was nothing but darkness. In the center, stood I.

Try to fight off the overwhelming loneliness.

That was the strange thing about misery: it loved company.

might fall a little in love with my own loneliness.

A current passed between us, like when you’re at the grocery store and see someone wearing the same T-shirt as you. That common acknowledgment of something shared.

“Ah, Archer. We always hurt the ones we love.” “Why’s that, do you think?” “So that we know they love us too.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Archer. You’re not perfect, but no one is. And if I met a billion people on this planet, I’d still choose you. You and your silent fucking depression—you and your quiet heart and your fear of living.

Sometimes words weren’t enough. Sometimes words weren’t anything at all. So instead of using useless tools in a moment surrounded by darkness pushing at its edges, slowly, I reached out and laced my fingers with his. Without saying a word, he squeezed my hand and didn’t let go.

Sometimes, words meant nothing. Other times, they meant far, far too much.

Maybe if this universe of ours was different. Maybe if everything was different and the sky was the ocean and the clouds were the soil. Maybe if life hadn’t engrained me with apprehension or uncertainty or a longing for some things I obviously could not have. Maybe then, we would’ve had words for each other.

People fall into each other in different ways. Some people fall together in laughter, surrounded by energy and joy. Some fall into each other in passion, unable to keep their skin from touching. But Mallory and I fell into each other slowly, gently, tentatively, like almost everything we did. We were quiet and fluid.

“You’ve got this old soul, and it’s serene and hushed and reminds me of the smell when it’s storming outside.”

“You don’t think what we feel towards each other is worth taking a chance on?” I asked. He paused briefly. I watched a hundred expressions flicker across his face. And then, “No.” “No?” “No.” That was all it took to break my heart. A two-letter word. Not a death in the family, not a sibling disowning me. A two-letter word from the man I loved.

“We can’t keep loving ghosts, Mallory.” And for the last time, his eyes met mine. “It’s not that easy, Archer.” “Well, I guess we’re both about to find out if it’s any easier loving one more.”

some kind of spark, something close to companionship or understanding. It was that feeling that human beings rarely had when they met another person and their souls spoke to one another.

That was always the easy part: talking about moving on. The hard part was actually doing it.

There was something about spilling your guts that helped to cleanse the soul.

Again, I felt that soul-deep connection to him. It was an ethereal sensation of belonging and pride, like his happiness was linked to my own and mine to his.